Evermore
by Mikkal
Summary: Everything is not what it seems. And everything gets more confusing when it turns out the Yellow Eyed Demon has made himself at home helping Voldemort with his plans. More and more things keep piling up. Dean and Sam are fighting the pieces, but they're still falling into place. /AU seasons 2-5. AU books 5-7/
1. Forevermore: I

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Author Note: This is AU for all (/most, there are certain elements I'm keeping. The Special Children are not one of those elements) of Supernatural starting after episode 1 of season 2. This is AU for Harry Potter after book 4. This focuses more on Supernatural than Harry Potter, but Harry Potter is still an important part, trust me. As of now, only book 5 and book 6 (season 2 and four) are planned for. I'm unsure of book 7 and season 5, but some way or another they will happen. Thank you for your time.

* * *

Evermore

Mikkal

Forevermore: I

* * *

_How do we even get into these messes?_

Sam went crossed eyed to at the end of the wooden stick pointed right between his eyes. In normal circumstanced he would burst out laughing at the sight this would make to an outsider, but normal circumstances don't have five people wearing black robes and skull masks pointing sticks at him and his brother, with one of those sticks just recently fired a rush of cutting wind that sliced up Dean.

Besides, who ever said being a Winchester would be normal?

Dean took a gasping breath as slid down the alley wall to sit on the ground, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Even through the pain that must have been mind numbing he glared up at the goons with a pistol in hand, feature stoic.

"I would admire your stubbornness," the leader spoke, he was the only one close enough for Sam to see his stormy gray eyes. "If it weren't for the fact you killed one of our members."

"Whine, whine, whine," Dean groaned, "Just stuff your face. You freaks deserve it."

A stick—or, now that he thought about it—a wand flicked from Sam to Dean so now it was two to three. "If I were you," whoever it was snarled, "I would shut my mouth."

"Good thing you aren't then," someone else spoke up. "If we're the freaks then I'd hate to see what you two would be called."

Sam's blood grew colder, the freak had a good point. He already knew he was doomed to a life that was weirder than a normal Hunters, but what about Dean? He was completely normal, considering.

Dean rolled his eyes, "I have no idea what you're talking about." He waved his hand half-heartily, "You're doing a really crappy job of killing us, so why don't you run along and be good freaks so _we _can pull the plug?"

"I don't think so." The leader raised his wand about his head, the tip glowing a bright green color. "Avada Keda—"

A burst of red light broke off his spell, sending him and his wand flying in opposite directions. Suddenly, chaos erupted, lights were shooting off everywhere as more people appeared out of nowhere, dress in possibly what could be called normal robes.

Sam slid down the wall to rest next to Dean. "How you holding up?" Dean's face was ashen and glistened with sweat.

"A European warlock/witch person just hit me with a spell, how do you think I feel?" He snapped, eyes flashing.

Sam winced in sympathy, before looking out onto the fight. "What do you think's going on?"

"I don't know," he took deep breaths through is nose. "But they're all European so it can't be good."

There was a final scream before the three remaining black robed men disappeared, leaving behind a group with a stern looking woman at the lead.

She looked down at them, features pinched. "Are you alright?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer when Dean moaned and slumped over, his face smashing into his little brother's shoulder. He caught him in a rush of panic. This was _not _how he wanted to spend their night of celebration. Ganking a nest of vampires wasn't something most Hunters got to do on a regular bases. (And yet this was, quite possibly, the second time they'd done it in two years.)

"Dean!"

"He'll be fine," the woman said, words tilted much like the masked-group. "Just a few wounds. They'll heal and you'll forget all about this. _Obliviate," _she said, pointing at them in turn.

An ache developed in his head and the woman didn't drop her wand, almost like she was going to cast another spell after the one that sounded like something to do with memory.

"Now to heal this young man," she murmured, because maybe she realized that even the stupidest person would wonder why their companion suddenly had wounds. Though, why she didn't heal Dean then the memory spell was a question all in itself.

Sam clutched his brother close. "I don't think so."

She blinked at him like she wasn't expecting him to be there. "How are you still awake?" Well, that explained it. "...How do you still remember?" She glanced at her wand with a frown and raised it, possibly to try again.

Ah memory spell equals forgetting. Gotcha.

He snatch up Dean's dropped gun and pointed it at her. "Don't even think about it, witch," he snapped. "Raise it and I'll shoot, don't think I won't. You're not making me forget." He couldn't be sure if it already worked on Dean. "But it didn't work, whatever you wanna do to my brother now isn't gonna work either."

The witch stared at him with well covered surprise and disappeared with a soft _crack_. Sam didn't think she was running because she was afraid, the woman seemed to be made out of rock. No, she was running off to tell someone much more powerful about what just happened.

And isn't that just _dandy_?

Dean moaned again and shifted, subconsciouslypressing a hand to his stomach where one of the worse wounds was.

"Shit," Sam hissed.

He hefted his brother up and leaned him agains the brick wall before sliding off his flannel. It wasn't hot nor cold in this part of the state, wearing layers just became habit. He pressed the shirt onto his brother's stomach carefully.

"Dean," he urged, shaking his shoulder. "C'mon. Your ass is too heavy to haul around by myself."

Besides, it was easier to judge how bad it was if Dean was awake. Granted, not the healthiest or the safest way to go about things, but it worked in the past what would stop it from working now? There was no fear of Dean dying, the only fear was that the magic did more than just slashing.

Dean groaned and shifted and groaned again. His eyes fluttered before green slits glared at him. "Dude," he said, voice cracking a bit. "Personal space."

Sam couldn't help but grin. He pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder and practically dragged him up. "Let's go, man."

"Don't wanna," Dean slurred, fighting against Sam's hold weakly.

He frowned at the action. This wasn't right. Dean wouldn't normally be this out of it and he wouldn't be fighting like this. His brother knew best, out of all people, what would happen if you were to be in the same spot when reinforcements came in and you were still injured.

"Dean," he tried again. "Come on. I think they're gonna come back."

That made him still and blink sluggishly again. "Sam?" He all but slurred, glancing at him. Finally he nodded and helped drag himself along silently except for the muffled moans of pain.

Sam gritted his teeth and held on. As much as Dean was helping his older brother was still slipping a little, blood making his hand slick. They were almost to their motel, just one more street and they could make it.

"You goin' sloooow, S'mmy," Dean whispered, an uncharacteristic giggle breaking past his lips.

His heart froze at the sound. What the hell did that witch do to his brother? _Obliviate _was a spell to make him forget, but Dean knew who he was. He was just acting like he was incredibly high. Maybe it was something the others did? Maybe a combination of spells?

Since when did witches use wands anyway? They were all hex bags and rabbit blood.

They stumbled into their room, a drop of blood staining the cream and dirt colored carpet. Sam made a face at it and directed Dean to the bathroom. There were no extra sheets in a closet in this dump and he really didn't want the older man to be sleeping in blood tonight.

He set Dean on the bathtub's edge, leaning him against the wall, and grabbed the kit from his duffle. Sam did his best to keep his worry from showing, Dean was too quiet and when he talked he sounded like he just took a couple hits of a bong.

When he came back in Dean's eyes were closed and his face flushed, hand gripped into a fist at his side and the other keeping Sam's ruin flannel against his stomach.

"I dunno," Dean mumbled, probably hearing Sam's footsteps. "I th'nk 'm g'ing crazy."

Was it sad that the only clear word of that jumbled mess was 'crazy?'

Sam sat on the toilet seat and started cutting off Dean's shirt with a pair of scissors. His brother was way too out of it to attempt pulling it off without hurting both of them.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Dean's head rolled and he looked up at him, eyes wide and hazy. "Wizards," he said clearly. "Th'se w're _wizards_." He hissed when Sam started mopping up blood, even if he was gentle over the actual wounds.

He breathed a sigh of relief. They were deep enough and numerous enough to bleed like a sieve, but there was no need for stiches.

"What do you mean wizards?" He needed to keep Dean talking, especially when he sounded so lucid.

Dean waved a hand that really just flopped around. "Wizards," he repeated. "Like w'itches 'nd warl'cks, but sm'rter." His eyes slid close again, but he kept talking.

So Sam learned a lot about wizards. Well, okay, not really. It was very little information, but Sam hadn't been aware of the category of wizards so it was a lot to him. Like how they weren't as attached to Mother Earth except for potions and wands and that they were more interested in all spells other than ones that caused harm.

It painted a very gray picture to Sam, but he doubted Dean saw it the same way. His brother was very black when it came to the monster and creature world.

Dean's rambling trailed off and he just kind of slumped a little. He grabbed the edge of Sam's jacket a tugged on it.

"If I ever…see a…wizard…again," he said slowly, obviously trying not to slur. "It'll….be too…soon." He glared. "Help me…up."

There wasn't much more to say. Sam shoved some pain meds down Dean's throat and more or less tucked him in before heading to the other bed and stretching out. Just an hour or two of sleep, a quick check up on Dean, and then he could safely knock out.

But he just spent an hour thinking about how _wrong _this was. What were European wizards doing in the back alley of Middle-of-Nowhere town, USA? Why did they hurt Dean and not him? (Okay, that had an answer, Dean was the first to pull his gun). Why didn't they try and make them forget? The list of questions went on and on, but the most important one was this:

What the hell was wrong with Dean?

He's had worse wounds. Was it how they were inflicted? Combination of the wounds and the spell the witch tired that backfired? That was the only thing he could think of.

That was his last thought before he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up, though, it was still dark and three hours passed. It took a moment to figure out what woke him up in the first place when he heard it. The sound of gagging reached his ears and he turned his face to see the bathroom light on.

Well, that wasn't good.

His back cracked when he got up. Sam ignored it and headed over to see his brother leaning over the toilet and puking his guts out.

Oh God, he looked _horrible_. The last time he could remember Dean looking like this was when…was when was dying from that rawhead incident. Dark shadows under his eyes making them look sunken, sweat dripping down his face, the flush high on his cheeks, and his arms trembled as he tried to support his weight.

Dean took one look at him with too bright eyes, glazed over in fever, muttered, "Damn wizards," then promptly passed out, smacking his head on the porcelain on his way down.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood in front of Muggle establishment. Not quite at a lost of what to do, but more of "not sure if this was the best course of action." Minerva was very clear on the Muggles she encountered last night, how they weren't affected by the Memory Charm—which no one, Muggle or wizard was immune to—and she said the alley way she had apparate into had a heavy, not enough air feeling that wasn't due to the Death Eaters. The feeling had still been there after the last of them had run away.

She could only attribute it to the two Muggles and based on the evidence Albus had to agree. What was more worrisome was not the heavy air or the fact that they had apparently pulled a gun on the Death Eaters and made threats as if they were in a familiar situation.

No, what worried Albus was that one of men had been hurt and the Memory Charm backfiring. He had never run into something like this, but he had a pretty good feeling what was happening now behind this motel door.

He raised a fist a knocked lightly. A full minute passed before he heard a hissed "one second!" and the sound of someone running into something.

A very tall man answered the door. Albus was a little surprised at the height.

"Can I help you?" The man asked in a haggard voice, his hazel eyes kept glancing behind into the room periodically until he caught sight of Albus' robes.

Ah, perhaps he should have gone with light blue instead of purple?

He found himself faced with a Muggle weapon, a gun, and those hazel eyes that looked so worried before were hard and relentless.

"Who are you?" The man snapped.

Albus raised his hands to show himself unarmed and answered calmly, "My name is Albus Dumbledore. My associate tried to wipe your memories last night, but it seems something went wrong."

The man's eyes widened considerably. "You here to finish the job?" He cocked his gun and moved his finger towards the trigger.

He kept his hands were they were. "No, I'm here to help. I have a theory. My associate tells me your companion was hurt before her charm. Is he sick now? Terribly sick?" At the way the man's face paled Albus knew he was right so he rushed to say, "I believe the spell made him forget the wrong thing."

The man frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Instead of affecting his memory it affected his immune system. His body forgot how to heal itself and fight off infection."

"Can you fix him?" The man asked suspiciously. "Without us owing you," he added. "It's your fault in the first place."

Albus nodded. "I can help and it won't cost you a thing. I should probably help you as well since you were hit with the spell, but you weren't hurt so it's not detrimental."

"I'm Sam," the man told him. "And he's my brother. Dean." He hesitated before he stepped to the side to allow Albus in, but he didn't lower his gun. "If you hurt him," he warned.

"I won't," he assured.

He had to take a moment when he finally crossed the threshold of the room (was that salt?) because he found himself unable to breath for a brief, panic filled moment. And then it was gone like nothing happened, but the air still felt heavy.

Now he could see what Minerva meant.

Albus was quickly distracted from his musings by the sight of Dean curled up in a ball under more than a few blankets, shivering uncontrollably. Sweat dripped down his brow, most likely stinging as it hit a wound surrounded by a bruise, and his face was flushed red.

He pulled out his wand, pausing when Sam's grip tightened on his gun. "I am only going to remove the charm," he informed the Muggle. It warmed him a little to see such protective instincts in one so young. "That is all. After he is comfortable I will remove the charm from you as well."

"Can you heal him?" Sam asked.

Albus shook his head. "The infection will be gone, but I cannot heal his wounds. I was never proficient in healing magic and I do not have the potions for it."

Sam seemed to be at mental war with himself before he nodded. "No funny business, Mr. Dumbledore."

"Professor," he corrected absently. "Or Headmaster. I prefer professor, though." He leaned over Dean and said, quite clearly for the benefit of Sam, the counter spell.

Dean let out a long moan and shifted onto his back before he silenced, the pained lines around his mouth and on his forehead smoothing away. Sam sighed in relief and the grip on his gun relaxed ever so slightly.

The young Muggle put his hand on his brother's forehead and nodded. "His fever's down." He pulled off a few blankets before peering under Dean's shirt. "His wounds are still there, but it looks like the infections gone."

The fact that such a young man was efficient in his clinical cataloged of his brother made the warm part of him from seeing the protective instincts grow cold. No one that young should be like this: so dark and stormy with knowledge he should never know. It reminded him of another young one he knew.

Sam looked up at him. "Thank you," he said sincerely, a small smile of gratitude forming on his face.

Albus smiled in return and quickly took the memory charm from Sam as well. "I am curious," he said. "As how you came across the Death Eaters in the first place."

The young man frowned. "Death Eaters?" He said. "That's what they're called?" He shrugged when Albus nodded. "Dean and I were on our way to a bar. We had—," he faltered for a moment. "—We had just finished up a job and wanted to celebrate. They were following us, though they were just some random guys, so we thought we'd head them off in the alley."

Albus thought for a moment. Well, this was certainly something unforeseen. Though, he had a feeling… "Were you aware the was a vampire nest located just outside of town?" His assumptions were proven correct when Sam stiffened.

"'Was?'" He asked nonchalantly. His acting was very good.

The wizard couldn't help but smile. "Yes, 'was.' Those Death Eaters were attempting to recruit them into their cause, while my own associate was attempting to convince them to say no. But it seems they were beheaded long before any wizard got there." He looked at Sam, slightly amused. "I would assume they were bad?"

Sam struggled with himself, but before he could say anything a raspy voice answered, "They were killing little kids."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, falling to his knees even as Dean pushed himself up with shaking arms so he was leaning against the headboard. "Lay back down," he commanded.

Dean just waved him away and eyed Albus with suspicion. "Since Sammy hasn't kicked you out yet, I'm assuming you're the one who helped me." At Albus' nod he continued with, "Yes, those vampires were bad. They were killing little kids through out the country until we stepped in."

"Why were the Death Eaters trying to recruit them?" Sam asked.

A snort came from Dean, no doubt at the name.

Albus smiled softly at the humor. "The Death Eaters are a group of Pure, or mostly pure, bloods who are attempting to kill of all Muggle borns and half-bloods in the Wizarding world, they work for a Dark Lord who hates Muggles with a passion." He refused to say his name in front of these American Muggles. Why should he take away their ignorance? "Let alone those with mixed blood. The Dark Lord has the help of many Dark creatures and is trying to expand off the continent. Your country is full of Dark creatures, I'm honestly surprised they didn't try sooner."

"That is weird," Sam muttered. "Why, I wonder."

He didn't have an answer for that.

"Maybe something's here that's scaring them off," Dean said. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, looking tired. "We've got lots of bad guys over here, maybe this Dark Lord dude is too afraid too come over here?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Doubt it."

"You two are Hunters," Albus said, deciding that just letting it hang unannounced was not the best course of action.

"Jeez, what gave it away?" Dean said sarcastically. He was looking more and more tired as the seconds passed. "Was it the fact that we took out a nest of vampires or knew you guys were wizards and not witches and warlocks?"

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but he held back. Shame, really, Albus wanted to know what it was.

"Are you aware of a man with yellow eyes?" Albus asked. "He's been working with the Dark Lord for about two months now. We have no idea how to counter him and our European Hunters are at a loss."

Both men froze and Albus found it, yet again, hard to breath. Dean swore and stood up before Sam could keep him down. He swayed, his face quickly losing color and making his freckles stand out starkly. Sam caught him as his legs buckled and made him at least sit down before he passed out.

"Stay," Sam ordered. "He's a demon," Sam told him. "Demons weren't very active until a few months ago so it's not weird that Hunters aren't aware of the yellow eyed one."

Dean laid out, stretching out on the bed and wincing. "Bastard," he slurred.

Albus raised an eyebrow. He was not expecting to run into the very thing he needed: information on the yellow eyed man. He had just asked the question on a whim.

"There have been attacks all over from the yellow eyed demon," Albus said. "He works for the Dark Lord I told you about earlier," he repeated.

"Well that explains a few things," Sam said mostly to himself, but also directed at Dean. "It's been awhile since we've seen demons around. They're probably off helping him." He turned to Albus. "And he's not working for your Dark Lord. Your Dark Lord is working for _him_."

"I don't understand."

"He wants something, something big," Sam told him. "And it's not the destruction of the Wizarding world, I can tell you that. It's but bigger than that. Dean thought—." Sam cut himself off and glanced down at his brother to see him sleeping. He shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "Anyway, Dean thinks that the demon has a domino plan going on. He does one thing and the rest fall into place. We just haven't figured out what."

Albus nodded his agreement of the theory. That does make sense. Voldemort was fond of those types of plans every now and then.

Another thought struck him. The Minister of Magic had been hurrying him along to find a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor or else, as he threatened, the Minister would be forced to put in his own people. Considering their knowledge of Dark Creatures and their display of logical thinking that would no doubt serve well if it came to understanding how spells work Muggle or not _and_ they were the most knowledgeable of the yellow eyed demon—even knowing it was a demon in the first place.

And it helped that these men seemed to want this demon taken out much more than Albus wished for it, considering how Dean was ready to force himself through pain just at the thought of the demon.

"Sam," Albus said slowing. "Do you remember me telling you I was a Headmaster?"

The young man nodded, frowning a little in confusion.

"How would you and your brother feel about coming to the school I am Headmaster at and teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"


	2. Forevermore: II

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Author Note: I know this seems a little slow, but this is the build up. Thank you for the overwhelming response I got. I went to bed just after I posted the first chapter and I wake up with 21ish emails that went to 23 after about two minutes. Thank you again!

* * *

Evermore

Mikkal

Forevermore: II

* * *

"Dude. _No_." Dean grabbed his empty beer bottle and practically stormed into the kitchen for another. "We are _not _going to Europe and we are _not _teaming up with some wizard!" He leaned against the counter to face Bobby and his brother, a hand planted against his side when a flash of pain sliced through him. Damn wizard and his inability to heal. "Hell. It's not just a wizard. No, it's an entire _Wizarding world_. Sam. No."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Aren't you even curious about why Yellow Eyes is helping a wizard Dark Lord?"

"_No_."

But he smirked even with Dean's firm reply. He heard the beat of silence (of hesitation) before he spoke. Dean was curious, he was mad, and he wanted so badly to go.

"Dean," Bobby said gruffly. "Stop being an idjit."

"Not you too!" Dean threw his arms in the air. "Bobby, these are _creatures_. Others. Magic and supernatural. You don't make friends with them and you damn sure don't go teaching them either!"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Would ya pipe down for one second and listen to me?" He smirked when Dean did just that, shutting up and grabbing a seat on the couch. "I've talked to some Hunters in Europe. They've got this deal goin' on. The Wizards do their best not disturb the normals and the Hunters do their best not to hunt down the good ones. When anyone other than a wizard goes bad, the Hunters take care of it. When a wizard goes bad, the wizards take care of it."

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Dean exclaimed.

"And since we've got the most experience with Yellow Eyes," Sam added, ignoring him. "They're asking us for help. Dean," he all but pleaded. "There are innocent kids. Don't let them—."

"Stop," Dean said harshly, making the two of them wince a little. He always had a soft spot for kids. "Don't finish that, Sammy." He looked to be arguing with himself before he sighed and said, "You've pushed your case. I'm comin', but I'm not likin' it."

A giant grin appeared. "You don't have to like it, Dean. You just have to bare it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How are we suppose to get into contact this with Dumbledore guy?"

Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin that had a fiery tint. "With this."

Before Dean could say and Sam could do anything, Bobby plucked the coin from the younger man's fingers. "Don't even think about it, ya idjit. You ain't summoning a wizard into my house."

"How 'bout the junk yard?" Dean offered. "I'm not letting any wizard touch my baby."

Bobby rolled his eyes. Him and that Impala. "You can use the junk yard," he agreed. "Furthest point you can go without walkin' your damn legs off."

"Oh Bobby," Dean said, sighing like a damsel from a movie. "I know you really loved us."

Sam held out his arms. With an annoying smile and a gushy voice he said, "Come on, give us a hug."

"If you two don't stop Imma shoot you were you sit," he threatened with no heat, making them smile even more.

"Well, Sam," Dean said, leaning back into the couch a groaning a little. Beer and meds mixed very well when you were hurt, but they didn't work like the grade-A stuff. "It's your gig. Point's on you. Decide when we meet up with this Dumbledore guy."

"Tonight," Sam said. "He said the school year starts in September, but we need to get there before so we can meet his Order of the Phoenix."

Dean raised his bottle to pause the conversation. "So, let me rehash this. Azazel is working for a Dark Lord wizard who died almost fifteen years ago because a killing curse or whatever backfired when he tried to kill a months old baby." And boy, did that hit close to home. "Now the dude's back but their government doesn't believe the boy, who was the baby who the Dark dude whatever tried to kill, who saw him come back to life. So Dumbledore made up this group."

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's one way of simplifying it." He waved a hand. "He said Muggles weren't suppose to be able to see certain things, but he thinks we'll be able to." He shrugged when Bobby and Dean gave him a look. "I dunno why, he just says so. Dumbledore thinks were special so we, as Muggles, are able to join the Order."

Dean snorted. "Special, right."

"That don't make a lick of sense," Bobby said.

Sam sighed. "I know. But Azazel's there, we _have _to do something."

His brother grunted as he heaved himself off the couch, wincing through the pain. "Whatever. Imma pack and give baby a once over. Call me for dinner and then we'll get cracking."

As he left he gave Sam a look that made his throat dry. It was a look of unmistakable trust that Sam knew what he was doing and that Dean trusted him not to screw this up or get them in over their heads.

"You better figure out a way to call me," Bobby warned. "Or so help me, I will do _something_ to make you regret it."

Sam laughed heartily. "I believe you, Bobby." He glanced at the swinging screen door Dean just went through, him having decided to work on the Impala first then pack. "You don't think I'm doing the wrong thing, are you?"

Bobby shook his head at the same time he shrugged. "The Hunters over there don't have a problem with most of the wizards, more of less. I've heard a few whispers of this Dumbledore fella to know that he ain't total bad news. But it wouldn't do ya worse than keep an eye out."

He nodded. "I think I'm going to go help out Dean."

Bobby snorted. "The day you help out with the Impala is the day Dean is on his death bed," he said. "Ain't nobody gonna touch his baby until he can't any more."

Sam ignored the urge to tell Bobby about the rawhead and the faith healer and how Dean really had been on his death bed and forced him to stop one night at a motel and began muttering little nuances about the car that Sam needed to keep an eye out for.

Then he ignored the little thought in the back of his mind that last time Dean was at Death's door was when there wasn't a moment to even _say _good-bye because he was in a coma and Dad was selling his soul and—

Sam shook his head and gave Bobby the type of smile he would expect from a joke like that even though he knew the older Hunter had caught on to what he said the second after he said it.

"Aw, boy, I didn't—," he began, but Sam waved him off.

"It's okay," he assured. "It's over. Dean's better. We're good."

And then he turned heel and headed out to the garage the Impala was out. Dean had spent the last two months remaking her and she was almost done. There were only a few things left out that needed special order and they were still waiting for them.

"Bobby could finish the rest while were gone," Sam said, walking up to Dean as tinkered with something under the hood.

Dean shook his head. "As much as I would love for her to be finished, that just isn't gonna happen. I'd rather finished her myself and I'm not bringing her along."

"Need any help?"

His brother shot him a look of disbelief. "Last time I let you touch her you made her clang for a week. A week, Sam! It took me a friggin' _week _to fix it. So. No."

Sam chuckled and leaned again a post. "Fair enough."

* * *

The dining room and kitchen were noisy, especially after the little fiasco of George and Fred attempting to help their mother while seemingly wanting to kill the entire group.

"This doesn't seem like such a good idea," Hermione said, eyebrows pulled together in worry and confusion.

Ron nodded in agreement as Harry said, "Well, Dumbledore's the one who hired him, right? It can't be all bad."

"He's the one who hired Quirrell, remember?" Ron pointed out. "And Lockhart. And fake-Moody. The man's only won _once _out of _four _times in the teacher scenario. I highly doubt he's going to win again."

"I dunno," Hermione muttered, thinking hard and logically like she always does. "With V-Voldemort (oh, grow up, Ron) on the loose and Dumbledore believing you and those attacks on Muggle towns by that weird man, maybe he's being more careful this year?"

"Maybe," Harry muttered. "Speaking of, any more news on that man?"

"No," Sirius jumped in just in time to hear the question and answer. "Dumbledore hasn't told us much about him, just that he's on You-Know-Who's side and very dangerous with wandless, silent magic like never before seen."

"Oh, yes, Sirius," Remus cut in. "That's very comforting to announce to the whole house."

The Trio paused and glanced around only to see the whole room absorbed in the conversation the three of them were having. Harry blushed a faint pink and ducked his hands. He wasn't use to this, groups of people who were actually interested in his theories. The Dursleys didn't care and Hogwarts students were too caught up in school to worry about the greater picture.

Just then, the doorbell chimed, finally spelled so it would only sound in the kitchen as to not wake Mrs. Black's portrait from her slumber. Mrs. Weasley wiped her hands off before clapping them together and headed to the front door.

"You lot stay here," she ordered. "Don't want you scaring them off." She glared at the twins.

"Who?" Fred asked, mock hurt.

George placed a hand over his heart. "Us? That hurts, mum, right here."

She rolled her eyes. "Stay here."

The Trio exchanged confused and nervous glances. _Them? _Hermione mouthed, eyes wide. They were only aware of one. Was it wise to bring in these unknown '_thems_' into the Order's headquarters?

Mrs. Weasley walked in at that point. "Everyone. This is your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Sam Winchester."

He had to duck to enter the kitchen. "Call me Sam," he offered with a soft smile and gentle hazel puppy eyes. "My brother is off doing something for Dumbledore, he's going to be your teacher, too. We figured it'd be confusing to call both of us 'Professor Winchester.'"

"Well, Sam," Mrs. Weasley said. "We're just starting supper, you're more than welcomed to join us."

"Thank you," Sam said kindly. He took a seat at the edge of the table so he could stretch out his long legs. "I haven't gotten the chance to eat yet," he admitted. He thanked Mrs. Weasley again when she handed him a plate piled with food.

"When did you get here?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Here, here?" Sam took a bite of bread and swallowed. "Just now. But Dumbledore picked me and my brother up from America a few days ago. He wanted us to run a little errand before we came here."

"But you said he was doing something now for him," Ron said around a mouth full of food that had them all cringing but Sam.

He chuckled a little and said, "We decided that one of us should be here just because." He shrugged. "My brother wanted to go into this next errand alone since he knew the people he was meeting up with."

"Oh."

The conversation after that was awkward and uncomfortable. They weren't quite sure how much Sam knew and was allowed to know and it seemed he didn't want to say more about his brother or what they did before Dumbledore decided to make them professors.

"I can tell you one thing," he had said in response, "The Ministry is not happy about this." He smiled as if he liked annoying governments. "They wanted to put in one of their own people as your teacher, but then Dumbledore found us. They're probably still going to send someone in," he admitted. "But they're not going to have the same kind of influence."

That cheered them up a bit. No one was very happy with the Ministry after the fiasco of naming Harry a lair who just wanted attention. Rita Skeeter was laying off the negative (and positive) articles about him, but most reports were still hounding on him and his "lies."

And then Hermione and Sam and Remus found themselves in a conversation about academics and such, Sam knowing a lot more than Harry thought he would.

"I read a few things these past couple of days," the American said. "I didn't want to come here completely unprepared. My brother, on the other hand." He grimaced. "Ignore him if he gets too rude or offensive, he doesn't like to read that much."

"Amen," Ron said knowingly, making Harry laugh. He shrugged when the three looked at the red head. "Hey, I don't like to read either. I'd take Quidditch any day."

Hermione groaned when Sam asked what that was and Harry and Ron immediately launched into an explanation. The American was following along a lot better than most Muggleborns and it was a little heartening to see that he was so interested.

Not before long Mrs. Weasley announced that they should all (all meaning the children) head to bed since there was a lot of cleaning to do. Sam voiced that he should probably do as well and asked where his room was. Mrs. Weasley was more than happy to show him.

The next morning found most of the children and Mrs. Weasley cleaning as adult popped in and out of little meeting happening in hushed whispers. Harry held his breath as he reached up to pull a dusty crystal mug from a top shelf, who knows what was in the dust that seemed to be nonstop?

"I don't trust Sam Winchester," Ginny said suddenly.

Harry jumped then yelped when the mug fell and landed on his head. He scowled and rubbed the spot before picking up the intact object and asking, "Why not?"

"And did you have to use his full name?" Ron pointed out. "There's only one Sam and one Winchester…for now."

Hermione wiped her hand s on a towel. "What kind of errand could Sam's brother be doing? An American Muggle in a Wizarding world, there's not much out there for him."

"Well, he did say it was for Dumbledore," Harry said, tossing the mug into a box labeled 'Delicate but spelled: not dangerous' (as opposed to 'Delicate but spelled: dangerous'). "Maybe that's enough for it not to matter he's a Muggle. Plus Dumbledore hasn't been very forthcoming nowadays, not surprising he sent Sam's brother. He's so out of the loop that no one knows who he is."

The brunette pursed her lips. "That makes sense. I wonder why it wasn't Sam as well? But still, honestly, what job could be out there for him?" She frowned. She was obviously not happy about this. It circumvented almost every rule she knew. "How can they even see this place? Most places, if not all, are spelled against Muggles."

"That's a good question, Miss. Granger."

All four of them jumped (the twins were tackling a hall closet that might have something living in it) at Sam's reply. Harry turned around to see the tall man leaning against the doorframe surviving them with an amused expression.

Sam shrugged. "We're not sure yet," he continued. "But it seems Dean and I are exceptions, not the rule."

It took a moment for Harry to connect 'Dean' to 'brother,' but he finally got it.

"Where _is _Dean?" Ginny blurted out before she could stop herself. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. "Sorry," she said, but she didn't blush meaning she wasn't actually that sorry.

Sam shook his head, lips twitch in a smile. "It's okay. He's off making friends with a few people to try and get them on our side."

"Why aren't you with him?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"He's more respected in this field," he said dismissively. "I'm here more for of the teaching and keeping a look out. He's here for the fighting. We're both here because we have information on some trouble."

Hermione put it together before any of them. "The strange man."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we've run into him before. We're what you'd call experts in the field."

Which was completely understandable.

"What field?" Ron asked.

Sam smiled secretively and if that didn't raise suspicion then nothing else would. "We're going to be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, we'll let you figure it out yourselves. It shouldn't be too hard since Dumbledore said you guys are smart."

"That gives us nothing," Ginny said. "All we know that the man can do wandless magic and likes fire. He's a wizard."

"No he's not," Sam said.

That surprised them all. Not a man?

Sam chuckled at their faces. "I'll give you a hint: he has yellow eyes and he's not doing wandless magic. He's not doing magic at all, actually."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Harry demanded, kind of dreading this challenge because Hermione was going to go crazy trying to figure it out.

"The whole point of a challenge is for you to figure it out yourself," the American said patiently. "If you can figure out what and who that strange "man" is before we cover it in class then we'll clue you in into the whole story." He turned to leave. "Feel free to ask Dean about it when he comes in two days. Though I doubt you'll get anything from him." And then he disappeared down the all where Remus was waving for him.

Hermione huffed. "Really?"

"I thought you liked figuring things out," Ron said almost teasingly.

She scowled. "Yes, but this is beyond figuring things out! This is…unbelievable."

"At least his brother's coming," Ginny said. "Maybe he'll help."

"Doubt it, didn't you hear what he said?"

Harry shook his head. "There's no way Dean is as cryptic as him."


	3. Forevermore: III

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Author Note: You see any typos, let me know. Seriously, not kidding. Let me know. I'm in a haze of NaNoWriMo so I'm a little out of it to be spotting mistakes. I have the entirety-ish of Evermore planned. You have been warned.

* * *

Evermore

Mikkal

Forevermore: III

* * *

Dean tripped over a tree root and a flash of pain travelled up up his ankle and through his chest to his arm. He swore under his breath as he tried to force the pain and steady throbbing in his head away by will along. Stupid, damn kelpie and stupid, damn teenagers. A breeze travelled through the tress and made his already cold and soaked clothes freeze again his body. He swore again.

This is what he got for allowing himself to be dragged into a Hunt in exchange for the know-how only Hunters would have on what a certain demon was up to. He, admittedly, could have gotten the information without the Hunt because Christopher Tudor was a hard-ass, but the man knew a time and a place and that this wasn't it. Except, the kelpie was killing kids who had too many horses in their dreams, so there wasn't really a chance for Dean to say no. Of course he was going to help!

The fact that Azazel was all the way over in the first place was something he and Sam couldn't figure out. It didn't make any sense.

They had come to the conclusion in Salvation that there was barely any rhyme or reason to the demons killing. The only thing they had in common was that there was a six month old child or children and sometimes a family member would die as well. It went back decades before and the children who grew up were perfectly fine, some were locked in a mental hospital because a family member was caught in the cross fire, but there were no visions like Sam had or anything else of indication.

It made no sense.

Another root got in the way, stealing his breath for a moment in pain and panic.

"Sorry, Winchester," Christopher grunted, shouldering his gun. Iron knives in the chest was what killed kelpies, but a shotgun did wonders for distractions. The one on Christopher's shoulder right now probably saved Dean's life.

Dean ran a numb hand through his wet hair and groaned when the wind picked up again. "'s not your fault," he said, frowning when his words slurred ever so slightly. He jerked a thumb back towards the straggling teen behind them. "I blame him." He was teasing…almost.

Nicolas Tudor, seventeen years old, blushed bright red in embarrassment and a little bit of shame. "I didn't mean to," he muttered defensively. "I didn't expect it to be so… hypnotic."

He laughed despite the twinge in his ribs. "Most people don't," he replied. "I sure didn't the first time, but you get use to it. Don't worry about it."

Of course he was eleven for his first kelpie in the nice, wet state of Washington and, at the time, he had been completely unaware of the hypnotic affect the water horse monster gave off. He would have drowned had his dad not been fast enough. But he wasn't going to bring that little bit of information up.

"C'mon," Christopher said when they finally arrived at this cabin. "Let's patch you up and dry you off. I'll tell you what I know about your demon and what it's been doing."

The list of injuries was not surprising: cracked ribs and a large scrape on the side of his face from being slammed against rocks and dragged off them. There was a rather deep slice on his arm from a miss swing Nicolas got off once he shook off the kelpie's effect. And a too deep slice cut into his palm because Christopher thought blood from three people was needed (one of the main reasons the kelpie wasn't killed before this) to summon a kelpie when it was really only two and, of course, Dean was the third so the water horse showed up just as he was pressing the knife into his plan. It had yanked on his ankle with surprisingly sharp teeth, which left shallow puncture wounds. Apparently it hadn't been in the mood for the whole riding and drowning for poor unsuspecting sonovabitch tradition.

(The yanking of his ankle led to the "being slammed against rocks then dragged" because Christopher had missed with his iron and Nicolas took a moment to shake off the hypnotic and then missed when he finally did, hitting Dean instead. Really, it all made sense.)

All in all: Awesome and Sam was going to be pissed he got hurt even though he had back up.

Christopher's clothes were too large and Dean felt very uncomfortable, but it was so much better than sitting around in wet, frozen clothes. Nicolas had been sent to his room for schoolwork and the two adults sat at the table with Irish coffee in hand (which was surprising, he thought the British were all about tea) and talk about demons.

"I've never heard of a demon with yellow eyes before," the British Hunter aid. "Then again, until a couple of months ago I'd only heard of demons. Now I've exorcised seven in the past three weeks."

Dean couldn't help but wince. Somehow all this activity felt like it was his fault in some way, shape, or form, and he wasn't quite sure why he thought that. He nodded, though, in acknowledgement and bit his tongue on the subject. "Do you know what the yellow eyed one is doing? Everyone says it's attacking, but they don't say what it's attacking. Last I was aware it was in America two months ago, tormenting different families for one night for the past dozen decades, maybe longer."

Christopher nodded. "It's doing that here too. Also destroying cemeteries and churches."

Dean choked on a gulp of alcohol and coffee. "W-What?" He asked once he could breath. "You have any idea why?"

The older man shook his head. "None. That's all I know. I take it this is news?"

"Hell yeah it is." Dean dragged a hand down his face, wincing when he touched tender skin. "I know about the families, that's a given. I'm assuming they're all either families with Muggleborns in them or Half-bloods?" He swore when Christopher confirmed it. There was no reason for Azazel to be attack those types of families unless he was trying to keep Voldemort from getting suspicious of his true places. "I just don't understand the churches and cemeteries? What's it looking for?"

The buzzer on the dryer went off, successfully stopping a conversation that was going nowhere anyway. Christopher finished his coffee and grabbed Dean's clothes for him. Normally he'd protest, but the less pressure on his ankle the better.

Dean changed quickly and carefully then thanked the older Hunter for his help. His words were waved off and he was thanked instead—for killing the kelpie (when it dragged you underwater by the ankle there wasn't much more you could do). And then he left down the footpath that led to town.

His ankle felt like it was on fire and his chest hurt when he finally reached the boarder of Christopher's property and the town. But he ignored it in favor of pulling out the coin Sam handed to him before they separated. (He knew Christopher from the 'Stanford days.' A few calls here and there whenever Dean somehow ran into something that was suppose to be strictly European. Bobby'd put them in contact.)

Albus (wow, he sort of felt uncomfortable calling him by his first name) had said he didn't want to give them a portkey—apparently an inanimate, but spelled, object that you only had to touch to get transported. If it was anything like apparating then Dean was glad he wasn't only going to experience one out of the two. So they were just stuck with all but summoning him with a special coin.

Awesome.

With a quiet, barely there, crack the old man was standing next to him, staring in the direction of the lake with a complementing look on his face. Dean would've turned around so they were facing the same direction, but he didn't really feel like dealing with the sight of a peaceful, rather beautiful lake where eleven children died before Christopher narrowed the killer down to that kelpie.

"I didn't learn anything," Dean told the old man. Albus seriously got on his nerves with his 'ah, but of course, grasshopper' feel he gave off. "Other than watch out for your churches and cemeteries and the usual suspects when it comes to families." Dean stuffed a hand in his pocket, letting the other arm hang loosely. "Me and Sam will do some research about why and how the demon is choosing the places he attacks."

Man, Sammy was pissed when Albus informed him his computer and cellphone weren't going to work in both the school and the Order's headquarters. Dean decided he was going to label that look 'Bitch Face Special #23.1: Magical School Interferes With My Normal Life.' There were more sure to come.

Dean, on the other hand, was a little disappointed none of his old gadgets worked (the cellphone part was a little iffy because he still needed to call Bobby, but that'll work out some how), but he'd been so off the radar for a long time to stay away from nosey and stupid LEOs that he just didn't mind the no internet. Sure it made researching easier, but while old books were outdated (it was really hard to be outdated in this field) they couldn't be tampered with by stupid kids who thought they were hilarious.

"The library closes mid-evening," Albus said finally. "But that is only to the students. There is also a restricted section, but it is only restricted to the students as well. I'll be sure to give you and your brother full access to them." He pondered for a moment. "Perhaps I shall give you a list of books and their contents from my own personal collection? There might be something useful there."

Dean was surprised, but he hid that pretty well. "Thanks," he said, almost dismissively, but semi-sincerely. "Sam's gonna love that." He'll drool, no doubt, Dean bet to himself, grinning at the mental imagine that brought up.

Albus put out his arm like a delicate lady from those old movies. "I imagine you're tired and hungry."

He snorted and gripped the wizard's wrist tightly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Albus smile, a twinkle in his eyes that just made Dean even more uncomfortable.

And then there was the almost overpowering sensation of being shoved chest first into a very, _very _tight metal pipe.

* * *

The night before their Diagon Alley trip dinner was was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. No one usually came during dinner (except a few notable times, including Sam's arrival) and anyone who would was currently sitting at the table.

Sam was the first one out of his seat, seeming to know who it was, his long legs eating up the distance unbelievably fast. He disappeared around the corner; there was a breath of silence before they heard the voices.

"Dude, stop. I said I was fine," came an unfamiliar, exasperated voice.

"You came back more hurt than when you left. You're not fine," Sam snapped, words hard in concern.

There was a smack. "Get off, mother-goose. I'm fine. Just roughed up."

"At least get someone to look at you," Sam urged.

By that time the two of them walked in, Sam hovering over a tall, but still shorter than him, man with a scowl on his face. They looked nothing like brothers, but Harry had to guess this was Dean anyway. Who else would it be? He looked close to passing out, his face pale with a slight sheen, and he was pressing his arm around his chest, a small partly healed scrape on his forehead and a larger, fresher one on his cheek.

Despite all that the new man gave them a blinding, charming smile.

"Hey, y'all," he drawled, sounding like a cowboy from those American Westerns. Harry couldn't decide if it was real or faking it, though Sam didn't have one. "I'm Dean, you're second teacher and this," he jerked a thumb at Sam, "moose's older brother."

He didn't even wait for Mrs., Weasley to offer him a seat; he just took limping steps to the free space across from where Sam had been sitting. His face paled a little more and he winced a little, but didn't make a sound.

Dean looked around and waved a hand. "Don't mind me," he said, tone not so cowboy anymore. "Go ahead, eat. Don't wait on my account." His smile seemed less charming and more smarmy, but that could just be Harry.

Sam glared at his brother as he sat down. "You're a jerk," he muttered.

"Bitch," Dean shot back, ignoring the glare Hermione gave him and instead answered the glare Mrs. Weasley was sending his. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he said with a little boy smile that Harry had seen on Fred and George when they were trying to get away with a prank they obviously pulled, not bothering to explain how he knew who she was. "I'll keep the swearing to a minimum."

Sam snorted, but Mrs. Weasley's face softened a little and she handed him a plate full of food, making Dean's expression light up. He began eating like he'd never had food before, using his shaky left hand while the right stayed hidden under the table for some strange reason. Considering how shaky the occupied hand was Harry kind of figured it wasn't his dominant hand.

"What happened to your face?" Fred asked bluntly.

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley admonished.

Dean just chuckled. "That's the best part of the story. But you'll just have to wait and find out in class."

Ron shot him a look. "See," he whispered. "They're the same."

Harry shrugged. "I tried," he replied. "I must have jinxed it." He grinned wryly. "In case you haven't noticed, Ron, I tend to do that."

Dean continued eating while Sam and Hermione launched back into their conversation of hexes versus curses. Harry figured it was obvious: hexes were harmful but ultimately more for fun and laughs at a generous expense while curses where only meant to harm and destroy. But apparently that wasn't the case, those two were delving into topics and points Harry didn't have the patience to keep up.

Somehow, at one point near the end of dinner, Fred and George started talking to Dean. Their heads were bent low and Harry just had to assume it was about the twin's joke shop if the devious smiles on their faces meant anything.

He looked at Ron, who just shrugged, mouth still full.

"I dunno, mate," he said after he swallowed. "I don't think I want to know." He made a face that Harry whole heartedly agreed with. Who knew what kind of things the twins were coming up that needed someone to taste test?

Ginny helped Mrs. Weasley with some of the dishes. Fred and George were forced to as well as punishment for attempting to spell a broom into helping them. The spell went a little wacky and caused the broom to act like an excitable puppy that liked to do inappropriate things with people's legs.

Snape arrived in a billow of black and sneering air. He gave the Winchesters one look and practically turned his nose up at them.

"Professor Snape," Ginny said, surprised, when she came out of the kitchen. She had a roll of bread in her hand that she was probably suppose to give to Remus if the direction she was going meant anything.

The Potions Master ignored her and spoke with Remus instead about something he couldn't hear.

Harry picked up his own plate and started headed to the kitchen to put them in the wash when Sirius decided to have a go at Snape. He didn't blame his godfather, being cooped up in a house you could never leave or else get a Kiss was a horrible thought he couldn't even imagine actually living it.

And he was going to ignore it for the most part. Watching the reactions of the new professors was a lot more entertaining and enlightening.

The Snape said something about his father, like always. And, like always, it managed to get a rise out of him unlike anything else. (He should probably fix that, like Hermione kept saying)

Harry whirled around, wand out and a hex at the tip of his tongue. Next thing he knew, though, Dean was standing in front and a little off to the side of him, Harry's wand twirling between the fingers of his right hand fluidly. The Boy Who Lived blinked, he didn't even see the American move. How'd he move so face with a bloody limp?

"I'm pretty sure hexing a teacher is against the rules, Potter," Dean said, smirking. "Even outta school." He glanced at Snape. "Besides, you can't hex someone who's part of the war-effort, that's just bad taste, even if they're dicks."

Snape glared at the other man, but Harry was too angry with Dean to notice. Too angry to even wonder how the man knew he was planning on a hex with just a few syllables.

"Give me my wand."

Dean's smirk got wider, eyes going hard. He ignored his brother when the taller man said his name sharply. "Now that's no way to speak to a professor, Potter." His last name seemed mangled coming from the American. He twirled Harry's wand faster. "Wanna try that again?"

A small crowd started to grow around them, Ron and Hermione behind him in support. Sirius unable to decide if Dean was on the right side or if his godson had the right of way. Remus and Mrs. Weasley seemed to fully support Dean, as did Sam (of course). And Snape looked like he would rather be anywhere but there.

Harry gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "Can I have my wand back…_please_," he added. When Dean did nothing he clenched his hands into tight fists. "I promise I won't hex or curse Professor Snape again."

Dean chuckled. "There we go." He flipped the wand so he was holding the tip, offering the hand towards Harry in a surprising display of trust.

Or maybe the American Muggle was just that stupid.

Harry grabbed the handle to yank it back when there was a flash of light and a sizzling noise. Dean's mouth opened to scream, no doubt, but he clamped his lips together and struggled internally. The Boy-Who-Lived let go of his wand immediately, thinking that it was reacting to his less-than-pleasant emotions but Dean's skin kept sizzling and it was amazing Dean hadn't just started his screaming.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, grabbing his brother's arm. "Let go, damnit."

Dean closed his eyes, lips pressing together until they were white. He seemed to think opening his mouth wouldn't lead to talking like he wanted it to. It was very obvious that Dean couldn't let go.

Sam swore. "Do something," he snapped at the crowd, glaring first at Harry in blame and then at one of the adults.

"I don't know what's going on," Remus admitted.

Sirius pulled out his own wand. "I could—." But he was cut off when Sam started forcing his brother's fingers to uncurl from the piece of holly wood.

He yelped and snatched his fingers back, shaking his hand. "Holy shit," he said.

Harry agreed. Sam's fingers were blistering and red and he couldn't imagine what it was like for Dean.

Dean who finally gave up and moaned in deep pain, sagging against his brother. His eyes opened, horrified that he made a noise.

"Oh for!" Hermione shouted. "You're useless!" She reached over, wrapped her fingers around the handle and _yanked_ the want forcibly away from the Muggle.

"Jesus Christ," Dean finally said, well hissed was more like it, voice thick. He gripped his wrist, palm open so they could see the oozing burns and blisters marring the skin. A wound in the center, that had to have been there before, was open and bleeding profusely. "I know you don't like me," he snapped, breathless. "But did ya really have to do that, brat?"

"I didn't," Harry said defensively. "I just grabbed it and it freaked!" He saw the way Hermione was look at him. "I swear!"

"Lemme look at it, Dean." Sam reached for his brother's hand, but Dean pulled it away and grabbed Sam's injured hand with his uninjured hand.

"You're hurt," Dean said with a bit of difficulty but it seemed his brother was more important than little pain, surprising everyone. His hand almost burnt off and he was worried about his brother's fingertips? "Jeez, Sammy. Stop doing that."

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. "If you'd stop being a walking disaster attraction then maybe both of us will stop being hurt," he countered. "What this? The third major injure in a week? You can take out an entire Nest almost by yourself but you can't handle a week of wizards."

"And kelpie," Dean added slowly, he looked a little peaky. "That was between the wizards."

"You break any mirrors lately?" Sam asked, almost teasingly.

Dean gave him a pointed look that had the taller man laughing softly.

"Here, try this. It'll help. Magic and all," Mrs. Weasley said in a rush and then she thrust a jar of burn salve into Sam's hands. "I promise."

Sam eyed it suspiciously, but opened it and dipped his injured fingers in it despite Dean protests. He gasped a little when the blisters were gone and only shiny, pink skin was left behind.

"It's not going to work for the cut," Hermione said, almost tutting at the wounds Dean seemed to be covered in.

He waved his uninjured hand dismissively. "'S fine," he said, words slurring a little. "'m use to it." He hissed when Sam applied the salve and sighed when the cooling, a slight tickling, sensation Harry knew was there (potions mishaps a plenty) activated. Next second his skin was hale and whole…except for that really deep cut into the center of his palm. "You'll learn about it in class," he snapped when Ron asked about it.

"Give the man a break, Ronnie-kins," George said, ruffling his brother's hair.

Fred pinched his cheek. "He's not gonna put, say, cracker jacks in your bed tonight, is he?" He looked up at Dean who smiled faintly, maybe a little mischievous.

Harry had the sudden feeling he didn't want to know what cracker jacks were. He looked at Hermione for help, but all she could was shrug her shoulders helplessly.

Oh, they were so screwed.


	4. Forevermore: IV

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Author Note: You see any typos, let me know. Seriously, not kidding. Let me know. I'm in a haze of NaNoWriMo so I'm a little out of it to be spotting mistakes. I have the entirety-ish of Evermore planned. You have been warned. Ugh?

* * *

Evermore

Mikkal

Forevermore: IV

* * *

Harry had been angry when he first came to 12 Grimmauld Place. Even after he just shouted all of his problems there was still a little bit of anger hidden there. Hermione kept shooting him dark looked whenever she thought he was about to lose this temper in an explosion that was more than necessary and Ron didn't seem to mind, just talking aimlessly about the Cuddly Cannons and how there were so many books this year, and _can you believe the Winchesters didn't assign any books?_

And it took a little bit to get over his hearing. It was still unbelievable he had to go through that. The wizards and witches of the Ministry just gave him an all around horrible feeling that he still couldn't quite get rid of.

For the most part, though, he was calm, content. The mindless cleaning Mrs. Weasley set them all to kind made him blank out a little as he worked. It was boring and mind numbing, but it was better that than thinking about Voldemort and that strange man Hermione had no luck on figuring out about. Sirius helped them sometimes, but it seemed that looking at any Black family possessions just made him seethe. Fred and George continued to try and make cleaning easier, but they kept messing up the spells. He still couldn't decide whether or not they were doing it one purpose, chances are it was the former.

Remus, Mr. Weasley, Snape, Moody, Sam, and even Dean were in and out of the house. More were in that out than some, but it was obvious Dumbledore had them all doing _something_. Snape, Sam, and Dean were gone the most often, probably not on the same mission. The Winchesters were something of a stain to Snape, which was very noticeable. Especially since they had the job Snape wanted the most. He could almost imagine the greasy man's thought on how they were Muggles and Americans and what do they have that I don't?

Okay, maybe those thoughts were word for word, but Harry bet they were accurate in some shape.

He had figured that Dean would've taken a break, after all he was hurt and refused to be healed, even Sam was angry that his brother insisted on working missions. But the American just set his jaw and pushed through the pain. If Harry didn't dislike him so much he would've been impressed.

One day Sirius came bounding in the room they were in, already in his animagus form, tongue handing out and tail wagging so fast it as a blur. Harry laughed when he tugged on the cuff of his sleeve.

"This really necessary, Sirius?" He asked, allowing him to be all but dragged upstairs and down a long hallway. Ron and Hermione followed him despite her protests.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "I don't remember this hallway being this long."

Ron whooped in excitement. "Really, Sirius? Oh, this is bloody wicked!"

Hermione frowned. "What?"

Sirius stopped in front of door and stood on his hind legs to put his front paws on it. He looked at the three of them with wide eyes that laughed.

Harry reached out and turned the knob, feeling hums of power, then pushed it open. He and Hermione both gasped loudly when given the view of a large field, a giant oak tree in the middle with a tire swing handing from it and blowing slightly in the breeze.

"It's rare," Ron was saying. "But sometimes when a pureblood family lives in a small town like this they add field rooms to give to their children. Normally, around an older age the lock them up so the kid can focus on their studies instead of playing around." He looked at Sirius. "Why is this still open?"

Sirius gave them a wolfish grin and took off barking, picking up a rubber ball while he was at it. Hermione was the first to start laughing and run after him, shedding at least five years in her glee. She must have had a dog when she was younger.

"He probably has bad memories of this place," Harry said quietly. "Chances are he wanted us to come here with him so he didn't have to be human."

"Make new memories," Ron said in agreement, nodding.

"Are you lot coming or not?" Hermione yelled from under the tree. She was tossing something red and slightly round, but it wasn't the ball because that thing was blue. It took him a moment to realize it was an apple. "Oh," she said when they ran closer. "Don't eat the apples. Something's wrong with them." She held the apple closer to them. "It's too red. Not like any apple I've seen."

Sirius barked and they all looked at him to see him nod. And then he picked up his ball and dropped it at Ron's feet, sliming up his shoes

"Ew, Sirius," he whined. But he picked it up and threw it as hard as he could. Thanks to Quidditch it flew across the field room and hit the barrier—or it could probably be considered a wall—about thirty meters way, it bounced off and came hurtling back. Ron yelped and flattened himself on the ground quickly enough the ball only skimmed his hair. Sirius leapt over him and sprinted after the bouncing ball.

"I'd watch out for ball-returning walls," Harry warned. Hermione laughed loudly.

Ron stuck his tongue out at him. "That's for the warning, mate, means a lot to me that you care so much."

Harry put a hand over his chest. "From the bottom of my heart, Ronnie-kins. From the bottom of my heart."

* * *

Whoever had the bright idea of ever combining Fred, George, and Dean together was completely and utterly mad and should probably be locked up somewhere (preferably somewhere without dementors).

One minute Remus and Sirius were talking about something and the next colorful, dancing, _vulgar_ puppets were following them around, singing songs at the top of their plushie lungs.

Two days after that, the silverware in the kitchen had come to life and started banging a song out on the pots and pans. It sounded vaguely familiar and Hermione agreed. Everyone else was completely lost except Sam just seemed resigned. Dean kept singing along, the words something about "back in black and "nine lives, cats eyes."

The brooms were sent to work again and yet again the spell was screwed up on purpose. They weren't dogs anymore, but, instead, they were hiding behind corners and jumping out to scare people whenever they could. Out of the twenty one brooms spelled, only seventeen were found.

If the collective house, including those who only stayed every now and then, found themselves itching in very uncomfortable places then they never told another soul, but it was still obvious that they itched terribly in places people liked to pretend they didn't have in public. This could be blamed on Dean since Harry was sure Fred and George had never heard of itching powder before. Because that was what it was, he could feel a little bit of dust in his trousers. Most wizards just went with a basic hex, but this was Muggle made, wizard distributed.

Let's just say when the day before they were off to Hogwarts he wasn't sad to be able to breath normally, even if they were having another celebration for Hermione and Ron's prefect badges. He liked to think he was over the jealousy (not that he'd admit that) and was just waiting for the cake to explode into a box of cats or something. He was perfectly capable of ignoring the little twinge in his chest thankyouverymuch.

* * *

Harry was getting tired of the good-bye party and all things. He was moving to put away his plates then there was a faint thump from above. Even thought it was a stupid idea he looked up anyway, as if he was trying to see through the ceiling at exactly what was going on.

Obviously there was nothing.

He looked around and no one else seemed to notice the noise, not even when there was another thump. Harry turned away from the sink and headed up stairs, unable to keep the curiosity at bay.

He froze at an open door. Ron laid dead, splayed out in a position of crucifixion. There was a heart shattering sob.

"_R-Ridikulus._"

And then, it was him.

Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Harry's pale, glassy-eyed corpse. She moaned in distress and pulled at her hair as tears ran down her face.

Harry could only stand there in surprise, not really comprehending his double.

"_R-Ridikulus_."

With a sharp crack the Harry double turned to Ginny, his limp hand reaching for her mother. Mrs. Weasley gasped and all but wailed.

Before Harry knew it, he was pushed aside and adults were coming in. Sirius held him back while Remus approached the redheaded woman slowly and carefully.

"It's a boggart, Dean." He heard someone whisper. Sounded like Sam.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, I know, Sammy. But Lupin's not gonna get anything done if he shies away from her like that. As soon as he touches her it's gonna turn for him and he's gonna be a little too occupied to do anything."

"I think they know that," Sam snapped.

Harry was once again pushed away, much to his annoyance. He watched Dean saunter into the room, hands in his pockets without a care in the world.

Sam groaned in frustration. "He's going to get himself killed one day," he muttered.

"What is he _doing_?" Hermione whispered harshly. "Doesn't he know what a boggart does?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "And apparently he doesn't care." Won't Winchester be in for a rude awakening when he realizes just how cripplingly frightening a boggart really was?

And, not to mention, it would be very interesting to see just what this macho man really feared.

"Come on Mrs. Weasley, Lupin," Dean ushered softly. "Let's have Mad-Eye take care of this, huh? The man's fearless." He grinned. "The boggart's probably more afraid of him."

That earned a small smile from Remus. The two of them gripped Mrs. Weasley gently. And moved her out of the way. Remus leading in the front and Dean bringing up the back.

Completely horrible idea.

The boggart didn't change when the two men stood on either side of the woman; instead it waited for one of them to be sole object of its attention.

What appeared was strange because it was just a woman in a simple white gown. Average and blond with a sharp, but delicate nose, and a stubborn chin. Her eyes were green and there was a bright smile on her face, her eyes crinkling in the corners. It was a familiar action Harry couldn't quite place.

"_Dean_," Sam breathed out behind them, voice raw and broken.

Dean glanced at them (or, really, at his brother) and then looked behind him. He froze, eyes wide, hands slacking from Mrs. Weasley. The two didn't notice and kept walking.

The man swallowed hard and said, with a trembling voice, "Mom?"

Oh. The familiar crinkles were because of Dean. Dean had those crinkles…and apparently got them from his mother. Who was currently being imitated by a boggart. And, by the way the Winchesters were acting, she was probably dead.

The boggart's smile got brighter and there were tears in her eyes. "Oh Dean," she breathed. "Look how big you've gotten."

Her attention was only on Dean since this was his fear, but why did Dean fear his mother? Though he didn't look scared, he looked pained and like he was yearning for something he knew he could never have.

"Mom," he whispered again in a strangled voice and suddenly he was five years old, young and vulnerable and wishing for his mom to come back. Harry swallowed a lump that formed in his throat at the thought.

"It's been too long," she, it, said. And then, suddenly, her smile twisted into an ugly sneer, hate lighting her eyes. "Not long enough, though," she spat. "God, I can't believe I have to see you again. And here I thought I would be away from you forever."

Dean stumbled back a step, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from the boggart. Harry could feel Sam move behind, attempting to go to his brother, but someone stopped him. He, himself, couldn't look away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

The boggart looked down for a moment and then jerked her head up, her eyes covered by a yellowish gold film that stole Harry's breath. Hermione gasped and Ron let out a whimper that was cut in half. There was something evil and otherworldly about those eyes, a nagging thought in the back of his head told him there was something familiar about them too and wasn't that just great?

"First Daddy," the boggart said. "Now mommy? Boy, do you have _anyone_ that loves you?"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying fruitlessly to tear his arms away from Remus. The werewolf inside the seemingly fragile man was stronger, though, and not about to let go. "It's a boggart, Dean," he said hurriedly. "It's not real. That's not mom!"

Dean swallowed thickly and shook his head like a dog with water in its ears. "But—."

"Don't you 'but' me," the woman roared, advancing on the tall man as if he was a toddler. He stepped away from her, shrinking back into himself. His shoulders curling in and his gaze dropping down to looked at the floor before flitting back up. "You're so pathetic!" She laughed, grating and piercing. "You think I killed her? I gave her a _gift_. All she wanted to do was get away from _you_. She felt bad for little Sammy." She waved her hand towards Sam. "All she wanted was Sam, thought she was in some kind of hell when she had you first.

"Suddenly the boggart lunged forward and fisted the collar of Dean's shirt, yanking him until they were nose to nose. There was too much strength in those actions. "_You_ killed her," she hissed, that yellow gold flashing pure gold like fire for a brief moment. "Too weak, too pathetic. Everything you touch breaks. Anything you love dies. You're nothing but a living reaper, your touch is Death itself."

No one breathed, too frozen to do anything but listen to the hate spewing from the beautiful woman—no _boggart_. That was not Dean's mother. It wasn't. Harry felt sick but there was nothing he could do but listen. This wasn't something any of them should be hearing. They shouldn't be watching, especially when a single tear rolled down Dean's cheek.

And then, suddenly, she had a knife in her hand and she was pushing Dean away with a huge amount of force. She smiled once, horrible and terrible, before she slammed it into the side of her stomach, dragging it horizontally across her body until her intestines dropped out. Hermione choked and Mrs. Weasley left in a frantic hurry, muttering something under her breath.

"Dean," Sam moaned in distressed, but his arm was still gripped in Remus' fist and neither of them seemed to be able to move.

The boggart just stood there, smiling. "This is what you do," she said calmly, her eyes still yellow yet crinkling at the corners like her son, and pressing her hand to the deep, gaping wound. If she was trying to stop the flow then she wasn't doing a very good job, red spilled over and through her fingers, pouring a steady stream onto the floor. "To dear mommy and daddy. They never loved you.

"It was always about Sam, but that's the best part isn't it? You don't care that they don't love you. You love Sam more than anything and you know that's all you're good for. Loving Sam, saving Sam, loving people, saving people. You don't matter as long as other people are safe. And you know what? Everyone agrees with you. But you can't save anyone. Everyday people die because you're too slow.

"And everyday…" She trailed off and cupped his cheek. Dean flinched, but that's all he could do. He was frighteningly quite. "And everyday Sammy's coming closer to me," she said softly. "And you might need to follow daddy's orders one more time, be his blunt little instrument." She leaned over close to his ear and whispered something none of them could hear, but they did hear the choked sob that escaped from Dean.

Harry was shoved to the side and Moody came charging in. The ex-professor separated the boggart from Dean and planted himself firmly in front of the Winchester, his wand raised and ready, his electric blue eye whizzing in circles in its socket. Dean crumpled to the ground, the wall behind him keeping him from smashing the floor too hard.

The boggart began to take a new form, but Moody shouted "_Ridikulus_!" And it disappeared back into the cupboard.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, rushing to his brother's side.

And then everything just started up again. Like a movie that had been on pause only to be played after hours of sitting frozen. Hermione gripped his arm tight and reached for Ron's hand.

"I don't understand," Ron said, his voice a bit raspy. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

Harry had to work hard to speak around the lump that seemed to have lodged in his throat. When he could finally utter something it hurt more than he thought it would. A deep hurt that was in his heart and not his throat. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Hermione sounded close to tears—she might have already been crying for all he knew, but he was too much of a coward to turn a look. He couldn't tear his gaze from the two brothers—when she said, "How can that be his fear? His mother hating him? Blaming him for her and his father's death? Saying all he was good for was being a weapon, for saving people. That Sam didn't even love him?...How could anyone think of themselves like that? To think that everything they touch breaks, that anything they love dies. That's…That's horrible."

"Get off, Sam," came Dean's voice, raspy and hoarse, shaking Harry from his thought. He shoved his brother away and stood on shaky legs. "I'm fine," he snapped. A smirk forced its way on his his face and his eyes shut down, they were cold and dark and _not saying, not revealing anything._ He gave Moody a slight nod that was returned and then he stalked out of the room, pushing past the trio as if they weren't there.

Harry wouldn't blame him if that was the case to Dean. Honestly the less people who were audience to that the better. It was awful having your fears face you like that, it was even worse when there was a crowd to watch you and not do anything about it.

Sam stood stock still where Dean had left him before he shook himself and took off after his brother, anger and concern making his features twist and harden. No doubt what the concern was for. The anger was a little hard to place. Was it for Dean's cocky and smug approach to a creature he knew to be dangerous? Was it the fact the Dean seemed to think all those deaths he piled on his shoulders were really his fault? Or that Dean actually thought about himself that way? Or, even better, Sam was angry for Dean rushing out like that, like there was nothing wrong when everything could very well be shattering like a broken mirror?

There was the chance that it was all of the above.


	5. Forevemore: V

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Author Note: I made it to 50,000 for my original writing for NaNo! My head seemed to split open when I finished. I made it on the 20th or something. Same drill people, see any mistakes let me know. And let me hear your theories!

I love you, I really do, but could I have some review please? I know the favorite-ing and alerting should clue me in but I would really love for you to type out your thoughts!

* * *

Evermore

Mikkal

Forevermore: V

* * *

Sam woke with a loud gasp that he tried in vain to clamp down on. He glanced over at his brother to see him still sleeping—restless, but still asleep. The wounds on his face stood out against the paleness that hadn't left since the boggart last night. Sam reached over and lightly pressed his fingers against Dean's exposed wrist, hefting a relieved sigh when he felt the fast, but steady, pulse. He couldn't shake the nightmare of howling and growling dogs and the hiss of a snake that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the familiar screams of his brother in pain.

And wasn't it sad that his brother in pain was a familiar sound?

He ran a hand through his hair and checked his watch, groaning when it read way too early. No one was going to be up at this time even if it was the day the students were going to Hogwarts. He and Dean should've gone earlier, but Albus had made the argument that their little "missions" would be easier to carry out if they were in, basically, civilization. Apparently Hogwarts was more or less in the middle of nowhere—or so it seemed to a pair of Muggles no matter how special they were.

Sam more or less already set up a basic lesson plan and had an outline of what was a available in the classroom and library so they were all set on that front. He was more worried about getting loss in the school. He'd always had a horrible sense of direction and Stanford—admittedly—made it even worse. Dean was always better about it, but they weren't going to be able to stay at each other's sides the entire time.

His thoughts were interrupted by Dean making a distressed noise low in the back of his throat and rolling to his side, curling a little into himself. Sam couldn't help but sigh, his heart cracking a little. Why couldn't they just get a break, huh? Was that really too much to ask for?

"Dean," he said, reaching to shake his brother's shoulder. "Come on. Wake up."

Green eyes snapped open and Dean let out a whoosh of air before sitting up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. "Ugh," he groaned. "What time is it?"

"You don't want to know," Sam said wryly. "Early, though. Really early."

"Seriously?" He flopped back down. "Awesome. Why'd you wake me up, bitch?"

"Jerk." He refrained from telling Dean the real reason (or any reason at all) for waking him up. Neither of them were very fond of having their weaknesses pointed out, his brother more than him.

Sam clicked on the lamp and frowned, eyes narrowing as he finally got a good look at Dean's face.

"What?" Dean asked suspiciously. "There somethin' on my face?" His eyebrows furrowed. "You know, besides the obvious?"

"I could've sworn…" Sam trailed off, shaking his head. "The scrapes. They're not as bad this morning." In fact, they looked like they were weeks old now, instead of just days.

Dean got up and checked his face in magical vanity mirror on the other side of the room. He poked his cheek, biting his lip. "Hm," he hummed. "That's weird. Maybe it's 'cause of all the magic around here?"

Sam shrugged. That could be it, made a little bit of sense anyway.

"Come on," he said. "We should probably head out." They needed to get some stuff done before the train left at eleven o'clock. Some stuff being a lot of stuff, and most of it contained some of Dean's least favorite things.

"Ugh. I hate research," Dean whined. He stuffed some wayward clothes into his duffle. "Why can't you go do that and I'll stay here?" He snapped his fingers as if he just thought of something. "Oh, that's right. You went to Stanford and now no one knows you." There was just enough teasing in his tone to tell Sam that his brother was joking. "That's why _I _had to talk to Christopher. You're comin' with me this time."

They more or less took an hour to pack up and get ready. There was no need to rush despite Dean's complaining.

No one was awake when they trudged downstairs quietly (Mrs. Black was still twitchy (more than usual) after she flew open and scared Dean, causing him to shoot her portrait). Sam was a little disappointed, Hermione promised to explain transfiguration to him. He was learning all he could from books and the professors were more or less happy to explain it, but it was easier for someone who had to learn it as well to explain it. Students didn't expect you to know everything already.

"Dude," Dean said when they made it outside into the chilly English air. "I'm gettin' tired of the cold. When do we go home?"

Sam frowned. "Why do you want to go home so badly? Azazel's here, we should be here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're important, Sam. Or, at least, _you're _important. Come on, even _I _noticed that. The bastard would've come back once he realized we weren't takin' whatever bait he was trying to throw out." He checked his watch for some reason. "And if Azazel's not here anymore, then maybe all these kids wouldn't be in danger. I mean, they're in danger now with Voldy and such. But there's only so much a rampaging Dark Lord can do…and then you add a demon, it just get's worse."

"You don't know that for sure," Sam argued.

"You're right, I don't, but it's better than thinking it's our monster causing the worst of this." Dean scowled when a car drove past and sent up some dirty, cold water. "I hate this weather," he announced. "I better get me some coffee before I go postal."

"Uh huh."

The diner they went to was one Sam found a few days ago and Dean whole-heartedly agreed to. They had wonderful coffee (he wasn't sure if it was because he was so use to motel and gas station coffee or it was because Europeans were better than Americans at something…yet again) and their food was delicious.

"Is Albus meeting us here?" Sam asked when they sat down. Why didn't he know? Dean was being awfully sneaky lately.

Dean shook his head. "No, the contact is meeting us here and then Albus is coming later to show us the way to King's Cross, because wizards have to be so damn confusing," he muttered that last part. He had a good point, the books were a mess and everything was hidden. He and Dean may be able to see the magical stuff, but the really hidden stuff took a few blinks to work out and caused a little bit of a headache.

The bell above the door rang just as their food was placed in front of them. A slight woman and a taller man walked in. Their eyes zeroed in on the booth he and Dean were sitting in, but the couple didn't look like Hunters. They didn't have that wary, rugged (or ragged, depended on how you liked to describe the… lifestyle), nor were their faces even remotely sunken it. Bobby accused him and Dean of that a lot (more Dean than him considering Sam had only be back in the saddle for a little of time). The couple stopped right in front of their table.

"Oi, Winchester, right?" The woman asked, eyes flitting from Dean to him.

Dean sat up a little straighter and put on a charming smile, but it wasn't the flirty one he was expecting. "That's right. Dean. Sam." He gestured towards his brother. "You Lisa and Jack?"

"Yep. Move over." She nudged Dean's shoulder and slid next to him.

Jack took the seat next to Sam, giving him a shrug that said _Don't look at me, I can't control her. _Which, fair enough, women were independent but the women Hunters more so. They were, as Dean liked to say, badass motherfuckers.

Lisa stole some bacon and pulled a large, old book from her bag. "I think this is what you're looking for." She pushed it forward and shrugged. "I can read it, but some dude can make out a few words. Something about Lucifer and Hell's Gates."

"Thanks," Sam said. He pulled the book towards him and began leafing through it. "Wow," he muttered. "This is really old." It looked like it was a mixture of Sumerian and some other language he didn't recognize, which probably meant that it was some completely different language that sprouted from the Sumerian language's back. He couldn't read it, but he just happened to know a group of wizards who knew translation spells and who also was on his side.

Jack nodded. "So old that there's not even data on it."

"Bullshit."

He shook his head. "It's true. Any time someone's tried to date it something goes wrong. But hey, that's magic for ya."

Lisa leaned on her hand. "Three churches went down. No one was hurt though. I don't know what your demon's lookin' for, but he's not finding it."

It was weird to hear her talk about Azazel (Dean and Bobby quickly assured that none of these Hunters actually knew the demon's name. This was his Hunt, damnit) so freely. Back in America none of the other Hunters believed Dad, referring it as his "mythical demon." Seemed European Hunters were a bit more connected.

"But I can tell you something's going on in a town near Hogsmead." Jack grimaced. "I hate that town," he muttered. "Anyway. Something's been going around and causing weird…disturbances. Wizards claim it's not one of them. Something about how aliens weren't their forte."

Dean perked up at that. "Aliens?"

Sam groaned. "Great, now you've done it," he said jokingly. "How come no one else's checked it out yet?"

"We have," Lisa replied. "But every time a Hunter gets into town everything's normal. As soon as they leave two people die and three more get sent to the big city for mental hospitals. We're sending anyone we can to see if they can figure it out, since you two are here we figured we'd tell you. See if you could take some time to check it out."

Dean shrugged. "I don't see why not. We'll be near there and, well, people are dying. Anyone set up to check it out in the next week or so?"

Jack nodded. "Henry said he'd go on Wednesday and then it's free for all."

"We'll check it out Saturday." Sam glanced at Dean. "I'm sure we'll have the weekend free."

"Probably," Dean agreed.

"Well then." Lisa clapped her hands and stood up, but not without stealing another piece of bacon. "We better be off. Dean, tell Singer I say hello and that he owes me for the info on that Rakshasa he was asking about." She leveled them with a stern look. "Don't trust clowns."

Sam shuddered. "Will do," he said, to both accounts. Clowns were evil and Bobby was going to hate that Lisa was going through them to get to him.

And then they left. Sam and Dean finished their breakfast in record time before they headed to the library down the street. This was where Albus said their car was going to pick them up to take them to the station.

But that wasn't for two more hours so they sat down and decided to get some research done. Dean had warned Sam that the book Lisa gave them was hard to translate so he worked on that. Apparently this library was both Muggle and magic so Sam mentioned something to the librarian and she directed him to a back room that had the perfect book to begin translating with.

Dean had stepped outside to talk to Bobby. Since they were warned electronics didn't work in high magic saturated places he was going to tell him that they were only going to call once a week now.

Just when Dean was walking back in Sam figured out at least the basic (it was really hard to do straight translations. Something always went wibbly.) of what the book was trying say.

"There's Hell's Gates all over the world," he said. "Usually in churches or mausoleums. I think Azazel wants to open one."

"What for?" Dean asked. "There's plenty of demons already upside." Same shrugged and Dean scratched his head, something occurring to him. "That does explain why so many churches and cemeteries are going down, though. There can only be so many Gates and there's a lot of places one could be."

"Six," Sam said. "There are six Gates."

"That's a very popular number with the demon spawn." He raised his hand to keep Sam from explaining why. "Don't. I know why."

Sam shrugged in response, grinning. Pastor Jim had loved cramming all of that information into their head, hadn't he? "Okay, then. So, what do we do now?"


End file.
